


Watching the Days

by we_are_the_same



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gen, Self Harm, Smoking, automutilation, trigger warnings apply
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 09:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_the_same/pseuds/we_are_the_same
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For this prompt:</p><p>Zayn burns himself with cigarettes -- rather than being angsty, it's more of a reflective, private, zen thing for him.</p><p>One by one, the boys, Paul, management, catch him. There's a little bit of concern, a lot of confusion, and many quiet arguments. </p><p>But nobody really does anything to stop it and Zayn isn't sure if he should be relieved or offended. </p><p>(He's not sure he really cares, either way.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching the Days

**Author's Note:**

> title from the yellowcard song _cigarette_

It's not what it appears to be.

Really, it's not. Zayn isn't doing this because he feels like he should punish himself. He doesn't hate himself. Doesn't think he's so ugly that a few marks more don't matter, no, it's not like that at all. It's just –

It's hard to explain.

 

The first time he gets caught, Louis's eyes go wide with shock, and Zayn looks from the red mark on his forearm to the way Louis grips the door handle – as if he's determined to shut out the rest of the world so no one can walk in on them. It makes him smile, because jokes and banter aside, Louis will always try and take care of everyone just as much as Liam does. He hears him whisper his name, _“Zayn”_ , and it sounds so _hurt._ Zayn shakes his head in response and tells him “It's alright Lou.”

He's not sure whether that qualifies as an explanation but Louis doesn't pry, though Zayn is uncomfortably aware of the other's eyes on him for the next couple of days.

He remembers the look of bewilderment and confusion as he glances down at the marks later that evening, presses a fingertip against the blistered skin until pain sparks up and makes him smile. He wonders if Louis catching him with fresh burns on his arm should make him more careful, should make him think twice or at least be more secretive about when and where going for a cigarette doesn't mean tarring his lungs but tattooing ashes into his skin instead.

Zayn isn't stupid. He knows that Louis will have told the other boys – maybe not all of them, but Harry at least, and Harry is the kind of boy that wants to _fix_ things so chances are that he figured he needed to save the day and informed Niall and Liam, and maybe they are trying to come up with a plan to save him from himself, poor Zayn who most be hurting so badly if he has to resort to auto-mutilation. He knows they look at him when he ducks out for a smoke, sees the calculating looks as they try to figure out if he has the time to hurt himself and cover up before the next part of their schedule.

They don't understand that it's not about needing time. Time stops when he does it.

 

The second time he gets caught it's Niall who walks in on him, stands near the door as he watches Zayn lift his head from where he was watching the embers imprint swirls onto his ankle and he sees the sympathetic wince when blue eyes flicker to the reddened circle. Niall opens his mouth like he wants to say something, and Zayn waits patiently, but in the end he just shakes his head and leaves the room.

It makes him feel almost guilty because he's not considered that doing this might hurt the others, it's never been about hurting anyone, but Niall seems a little smaller the rest of the day. He perks up – inexplicably – before the show that night, and Zayn wonders why, until Niall directs his verse of Little Things to him, his voice so earnest and heartfelt that he feels bad for him. It's sweet and he smiles at him and kisses his cheek after the show but Niall looks at him all hopeful like this fixes things and how can he tell him that there's nothing _to_ fix?

Zayn's a good guy though, so for the next week he humors them when Liam insists on coming with him when he needs a cigarette, when Harry tries to rope him into conversation when he tries to dig the pack from his jeans. It's kind of sweet, in a way, though he wonders what it says about him or their friendship that they are so quickly appeased, that barely ten days after Niall catches him no one bats an eyelash when he announces a smoke break.

 

He does wonder sometimes, if he has a problem. Certainly it's not _normal_ , but then, what about his life is? It's harder to explain than Harry's (supposed) reputation or the alcohol that they surround themselves with when they need to unwind, but what's the _harm_ in it?

The marks are kind of pretty, if you ask Zayn. Some of the older ones have faded into light circles, patterns of swirls on his skin that he traces with his fingernail, remembering when and where and even what brand of cigarette he was smoking. It's not unlike his tattoos except it's more private, these are memories and regrets and moments of happiness that he doesn't have to share with anyone, doesn't have to explain or analyze. They just _are_ and Zayn isn't doing anything wrong.

While he doesn't have to explain what the marks mean he figures he'll have to explain why he has them. If not to the other boys then at least to Paul, or management, or the public. The stylists who undo his shirts and tug off his jeans must notice, they're always in a hurry but not blind and Zayn isn't careful because hiding his marks would mean that he thinks he's doing something wrong, and maybe if people just _ask_ he can explain and they can stop looking at him like he's seconds from losing it.

 

The third time he gets caught it's almost a relief because he figures Liam, at least, will ask. Maybe he's been waiting for a moment where Zayn is actually _doing_ it as opposed to showing skin that's marred with burns, but it feels like the entire world stops for a second when Liam walks in on him in the bathroom, when Zayn is sliding fingertips over the skin on his stomach to find the right kind of spot. It's an art, finding that spot, because he's more sensitive in some areas than others and while the pain can relax him and soothe the stress he doesn't need to become too blissed out, so he only goes for the tender spots – the crook of his elbow or the thin stretch of skin over his hipbone – when it's late at night and he can't sleep because his thoughts are a mess. It's not like that now, in fact he feels quite happy. He's in that state where he can't quite believe that they've really just been asked as hosts for the EMA's, where other people would pinch themselves but Zayn trusts a cigarette more than he does his fingers. He's waiting for the pain to spark on his skin when Liam walks in and makes his hand halt, cigarette pinched between his fingers and the top button of his jeans undone, it's not hard to guess at what he's doing. He doesn't hold the smoke the way he does when he's actually bringing it to his lips, when it's dangling loosely between his fingers. The smoke curling up to the ceiling hasn't been exhaled from between full lips, Zayn knows Liam knows that.

Liam purses his lips and the crinkles around his eyes aren't caused by laughter, but silence stretches on between them until Zayn sighs and tells him “Liam, I'm okay.” He can see how Liam relaxes-but-not-quite at that, his shoulders sagging a little until they tense again like he's afraid of buying into whatever crap Zayn is trying to sell. Zayn rolls his eyes and smiles at him, flicks the ashes from the cigarette all casual while his free hand buttons up his jeans. “Honest.” The smile Liam gives him in return is tentative but he lets Zayn lead him out of the bathroom and back to the other boys, and Zayn figures they'll keep an eye on him all night but not even two hours later he manages to sear the memory of group hugs and _we're hosting the EMA's oh my God_ into his skin.

 

It's ridiculous, really, how over the space of a month every band member has caught him doing this, and none have actually sat him down and made him talk about it. Zayn isn't sure if he should feel relieved – because it's not a big deal and he doesn't need an intervention thank you very much – or offended, or whether he even cares all that much. Part of him is holding his breath, waiting for the inevitable panic that'll break out, part is even somewhat looking forward to it because even if he doesn't need to be reassured that the band wouldn't be the band without him and that he's valued and loved and beautiful and all those things that people say to get through to the ones they love when they find them hurting themselves, he's man enough to admit that hearing it never fails to make him smile.

When someone finally _does_ speak up about it, it's not Louis or Harry or Liam or Niall. It's not Paul, who simply told him to be careful when he found him watching a cigarette burn down to the filter, and Zayn would have protested because sometimes it's enough to watch but he was thrown off by the fatherly hand on his shoulder, the slight squeeze that made his stomach churn uncomfortably, the sudden doubt that maybe he needs to stop.

Not for himself, because he's fine. But for the others. For One Direction and the fans and his family, or that's what Management shouts at him when a stylist finally breaks and spills the story to her employers. Zayn stands in the middle of a room and people are talking frantically left and right, pictures of him smoking and pictures of his marks and websites and questions and no one _asks_ him what he's doing. He bites his lip and holds his tongue because he's not going to explain if they've already got him pegged as a liability, when he's not sure that he can convey how at peace he feels before-during-after. Not without using words like _zen_ and needing it and he's not an addict, he's not, he doesn't want to be treated like there's something wrong with him, so he clenches his jaw and stares at nothing in particular while they try to figure out what to do with him.

 

He feels hollow when he is marched back to their dressing room half an hour later, when the others are looking at him and he has to tell them “They're thinking of kicking me out” because _that_ was never on his mind. Voices explode around him again, Louis's high pitch clashing with Harry's low timbre, Niall wrapping arms around himself and Liam doing the same but only to Zayn, who looks up at him and can't help giggling because everyone's freaking out and it's terrible but it's _so_ funny.

“I'm okay” He says, and he hears their sighs and doesn't have to watch to know that they've all eye-rolled in unison, and his smile falters. “Really” He insists, looks up at Liam who still has his arms around him like he's worried management will come and drag him out if he lets go of him, and Zayn curls his fingers in Liam's shirt where his hand rests on the small of his back. “I promise”.

Liam opens his mouth, closes it again, sighs through gritted teeth. Zayn watches him wrinkle his nose and he wants to smooth out those wrinkles as much as he wants to create ridges on his own skin, but he holds his tongue because maybe this time they'll ask.

“ _Are you really okay?”_ It's Louis who says it, and Zayn finds himself sighing in relief and irritation alike. “Yes, Lou, I'm _fine_ ” He answers, meets his eyes and shows him as much as he can through their eye contact, tries to explain without words that he's still him, still Zayn Malik from Bradford who's afraid to mess up and maybe the quiet and mysterious one but still the boy who loves all of them – still the boy that has a love for life even if it isn't as apparent as Harry and Niall's exuberance.

“ _Right then”_ Louis says, and nods, pecks his cheek and points to the door. _“I'll sort this”_ He says, and Zayn faintly thinks that he's made for this, for the spotlight and the applause but even more so for the ability, the chance, to influence people and take a stand. He just nods in response and wonders what Louis is going to say, if he'll yell at them or bribe them or conspire with them to have Zayn committed somewhere because only deranged people insist they're okay when their body is covered with self-inflicted wounds.

 

He never finds out what Louis said to management, only that _they won't be giving us any more of that bullshit, young Zayn_. The issue is dropped and Zayn's habit goes undiscussed, even if the boys still walk in on him sometimes they don't ask, just mutter an apology before they retreat. Zayn knows that they still wonder, that they might not fully understand, but they don't treat him any differently these days. They don't shy from the scars or look at him in pity when he reveals tender, red skin on a previously unmarred limb, and maybe it's not the best way to deal with things, but it works. Zayn burns and Niall drinks and Harry hooks up but it doesn't define them, it doesn't make them who they are.

And maybe at some point, someone _will_ ask, and Zayn will smile and explain how the scars came to be and what they mean, and maybe he'll glide his fingers over the ridged edges of the mark over his heart and tell them that that one is for five boys and the unconditional friendship they shared. 


End file.
